Affirmation of Life
by saphira96
Summary: Micheal and Nikita can't keep their hands off each other after the events of 2x3 "Knightfall," finally Birkoff has had enough and leaves them to get into all kinds of trouble. Lemon.


**_Author's Note:_ Just something I wrote the other day when I was in the mood for a good Micheal/Nikita Lemon. Heavily inspired by a scene I read in a Bethyl fanfic, but for the life of me I can't find it again so credit to whomever that author is. Anyway hope you enjoy. **

It had been a few weeks since Colombia. Their vacation in Barbados had been brief and intense almost as if they reaffirmed the fact they were alive and together every time they touched, and they couldn't keep their hands off each other. The weekend had been a blur of pleasure; desire burning between them at a fever pitch. Micheal had joked that they might have set some world record if either of them lived in the world where things like Division and Oversight didn't exist.

When they had returned home, Brikhoff had been understanding at first. He could hardly criticize Niki for he himself often found himself glancing at Micheal every once and awhile gathering a much less physical affirmation of his own, but recently he had had enough. They had camera's in the place for god's sake, I mean not in the bedrooms but at the entrance ways sure and who did they think reviewed all that material…

He had walked in on them the other day in the kitchen when he finally said something, and like shame-faced teenagers they had apologized before running off to the bedroom, bathroom, wherever that hopefully wasn't a public space.

They had been better the last couple of days, but this had created another problem. Now instead of jumping each other all the damn time they both burned with sexual tension, stalking around the damn house like animals in heat, and to be honest Birhoff was no longer sure which was worse. If he was standing between them the raw desire and want that poured off them made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he'd lost count of the number of times in these past few days that he'd had to excuse himself from the room.

This morning when he walked down to the kitchen for breakfast he decided that he'd had enough. They were sitting across from each other eating, cereal for Micheal and yogurt for Niki. Both of them were looking over some kind of reports. Niki had a bruise he didn't remember seeing yesterday on her forearm and they kept sharing this charged little looks. At one point he even thought he'd seen Niki blush.

Birkoff sighed dramatically grabbing a donut from the counter, he needed a break from them, from all the sexual energy, just from all of it in general. He need a girlfriend or a hooker or something. With an accusing look at the both of them he left the room deciding he'd have to settle for an afternoon in the coffee shop stealing from Wall Street. After all, there was something so entirely soothing about his fingers whizzing across a key board and watching his precious little nest egg grow after the toll Niki's little crusade had taken on it.

Micheal glanced over, Nikita shrugged. When Birhoff had come back down the stairs 20 minutes later Nikita was sitting on the couch lovingly cleaning her favorite Glock and there was about a third of her considerable arsenal spread across the couch and table stripped and awaiting the same treatment. Micheal wasn't around.

"Where you going Nerd?" Nikita called as he walked to the door.

Birhoff peered over his overside sunglasses at her, "To get some work done without having to fend off you and Mike's carnal energy."

Nikita raised her eyebrows, "Ohh come on now, we've been better the last couple of days."

"Yep, and that's the problem," he grumbled as he walked out the door. Nikita watched him ago a little confused.

It was a couple hours later when she finished cleaning a prepping her arsenal. It paid in the world that she lived in to keep everything as if they were preparing for World War III at every movement. Micheal was still out walking the perimeter checking on all their sensors and cameras so she thought she would head down to the practice room and do a little mat work. Maybe when he got back she could spar a little with him. They both could use a some practice, to get even a little rusty now would spell death for both of them.

She hadn't been in the room long when she heard the door open and close upstairs.

"I'm down in the practice rooms," she called up.

As soon as he entered the room she could feel the tension and anticipation wash over her. He has wet the rain earlier must have caught him off guard. His hair and shirt stuck to him at odd angles.

She was wearing nothing but a pair of little compression shorts and a sports bra, and the moment his eyes landed on her she felt an answering sure of desire to that which she saw in his gaze.

"I thought we could spar a little," she said calmly taking a step back as if a few feet of space would somehow increase the oxygen in the room that so suddenly seemed insufficient. He watched her with an appraising expression like an animal sizing up its prey.

She tiled her head back a little, she wasn't intimidate by him, never had been.

"Birkhoff went out. Said something about getting away from our 'carnal energy'" she said with a smirk. Micheal's mouth twitched and he ran a hand through his hair brushing it back out of him face.

He was moving toward her in slow deliberate steps moving with a kind of muscled grace that brought to mind the way his body looked moving against hers, and she took another step back leaning against the wall.

When he was in front of her, he didn't stop, putting a hand on her waist and pushing her back until there was no where for them to go. She was trapped now between him and the wall, her eyes on his chest and her hair falling past her ears.

Their breath was all she could hear in the stifling quiet. It was as if the whole world had stopped, just her and him, alone in this world She stared up at him captured by his sharp green gaze. She couldn't look away, couldn't even blink.

She longed for him to close the distance and press his lips against hers, but he didn't and something deep within her kept her from reaching up for him. His fingers found her hips, drawing a slow, tickling line up her sides, coming back down her stomach and touching her midriff. He just barely touched the top of her shorts before he moved back up, fingertips brushing over each of her ribs and thumbs over the sides of her breasts. He did this, over and over again, not even really touching her, but every track of his hands left her burning hotter and hotter.

She angled her head up, pleading with her eyes for him to kiss her, but instead he just moved his head so that the corner of his mouth met her temple, his breath fanning over her hair and tickling her cheek.

The tension was unbearable, and he seemed content to keep it that way, moving like he had all the time in the world. She wanted to force him to act, to push him to fall into her, but his gaze held her captive against him. She swayed forward so that her hips met his, and she could feel his mouth quirking. She tried again, bringing her hands up to his elbows and gripping hard, trying to force him closer to her.

The change happened in a second. One moment his teasing hands were only just barely there on her body, and the next they were pinning her hands against the wall. He crushed his body against hers, so close she could feel the cold press of his buckle against her stomach. He looked down at her for just a second, reading her face. She met his glance shivering; the expression on his face had morphed into something else.

He was going to rip her apart.

He leaned down to kiss her so hard her head thudded back against the wall. She moaned a little, kissing him back with the same eagerness, excitement working its way through her body. The stubble on his cheeks rubbed against her lips and her cheeks, but she liked that feeling, liked the way he rubbed into every part of her. She'd been noticing it since that first time, little tracks of himself that he'd left behind, places where she'd been scraped raw or pressed on a little too hard. She could lose every inch of herself to him, follow the stories of his touch on her skin.

He let go of her hands, reaching instead for her face. His palms were hot against her cheeks, holding her head to his. It was messy, this kiss, but she liked it more for it, another noise catching in her throat as he kissed her deeper. His hand skimmed across her cheekbones and down her neck, his thumb reaching across her throat so gently, but the power was there, making her lungs thrum. He leaned in closer as his hold tightened slightly, her eyes darkened as heat flooded through her veins. She pushed up against him to bite his lip, shoving one hand under his shirt to grab frantically at him.

He used his hold on her to push her back so she was against the wall again. She could feel the pressure on her windpipe now, her breaths making more noise as she forced them out. She had been held in a similar fashion countless times, She had always thought it was a vulnerability of hers; her neck so small it didn't take much from larger practiced hands like Micheal's.

Everything was in tighter focus, his eyes traveled all over her face as his other hand snuck around her waist to her back. She looked right back at him, and bit her lip before testing his hold by pushing into his hand, pulling his hips into hers.

She only barely caught the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile before he was kissing her, his hand leaving her neck to wrap firmly around her back. His hands were so warm that she could feel them through her shirt, and he squeezed her into him before finding the backs of her thighs and squeezing her there too. She sighed as he reached her neck, kissing her where he'd squeezed her, and she whimpered against the burning desire scorching her from the inside.

She pulled at his shirt to get at his buckle, her nimble finger made quick work and she pulled his jeans down with one yank. Before she could do anything else, he was using his hold around her to lift her a few inches into the air. He said nothing as he walked them to the couch in the corner of the room and sat down so that she landed straddling onto his lap, his length between them jutting against the restriction of his boxers.

She was aching for him, deep inside past her navel, thrumming more and more intensely with every touch he had for her. He was almost lazy, now, back to those slow, steady movements as he pulled off of her bra so that her breasts were bared. He sat still then allowing her to pull off his damp shirt.

And then they were both still.

He was so good at not moving, almost catlike in how patient he could be. She broke first, humming a little as she reached out to his chest, dipping her fingers into the shadows left by the tendons of his shoulders. He was so strong, of course she knew, but she could feel it under his skin. Muscles, hard and worked and curving and bowing into a graceful landscape, and she suddenly felt so small on top of him. It wasn't a bad feeling, and the more she looked at him the more she could feel herself speeding up - her breath, her heart, her blood, her hands. She froze when he reached for her face, tucking hair behind her ear and going back further to tug her hair out of its ponytail. It fell around her shoulders, but he rewrapped it around his hand, putting the other on her waist and guiding her gently to him, his mouth opening when her open legs made contact with where he strained for her.

Nikita's thighs held tighter around his hips, her hands pushing down onto his shoulders. She radiated feminine power even the planes of lean muscle he could see flexing. Her skin was smooth and tight, every movement graceful and fluid, every curve delicate. Soft, warm, delicate, and all these other things that he wasn't. That nobody was anymore. _Beautiful_.

He thought that word might have slipped out his throat, because she flashed a look at him with flushed cheeks. He used his hand tangled in her hair to pull her forward, but she was already making a rhythm of her own. Her hips were moving, grinding along the length of him, the tight fabric of her shorts and his underwear the only thing between them. He felt his hips move up to follow along with hers without any effort from him, heels digging against the floor. She tossed her head back, breasts flushed and ribs pushing against her skin. He watched her face shift in concentration as she chased after her pleasure, a little noise getting stuck in her throat when she hit something she liked. He let go of her hair and put his hands on the small of her back, slipping under the band of her shorts to palm the supple curve he found there.

She leaned over, her hands moving to brace themselves on the wall behind his head, and now her chest was in his face, a pretty tan nipple nudging against his mouth. He kissed her there, messy and open, and as soon as he felt her hard on his tongue he closed his mouth to take her between his lips, shaking back a little to pull her taut. One of her hands shot to the nape of his neck to pull the strands there, her nails digging into his scalp as she pressed him into her chest. But then she was pushing down onto him, grinding hard first against his thigh and then where he pitched hard between them, she was wet, a heated little frantic thing in his arms, wet enough for him to feel her on his thigh, and when she reached between them to cup him over his boxers he groaned so hard into her chest that she could feel the vibrations within. And when she didn't stop there, merciless hands bringing the length of him out between them so that he knocked against her stomach, he winced with how good she already felt.

She took away the safety of her chest as she leaned back so she could look down at where she held him, her index finger tracing a vein so gently it would have tickled if he hadn't been so hard. She passed the tips of her finger along the side of him, her nails scratching him lightly and making his stomach clench. Things were slowing back down, the wave of action cresting, and even though he could still see her breaths falling hard on her chest there was nothing hurried about her hands. He put his hand between her thighs, grabbing those tiny shorts and pulling until the fabric was nestled firmly between her lips. Her hand squeezed him as she inhaled sharply, her eyes finally looking to his.

She bit the corner of her lip like she was thinking, but then looked back down at him, making a pass up his shaft. "Micheal-" she said cut off by her own breath as he returned in kind with a tug of her shorts, drawing her hips closer to him.

"What was that?" he muttered, timing another tug along with the pass of her hand.

She swallowed, her body tensing as she shifted more onto her knees.

"Don't hold back."

He growled low in his throat. He fucking couldn't help it. He couldn't help anything, not the way his hips were trying to follow her hand, not the way every single one of his muscles contracted when she squeezed him, not that even now he could barely stop himself from looking at where he had her strung. He didn't answer, instead slipping his fingers underneath her sorts not stopping until he found her clit. He'd known she was wet, but feeling it was different. Silky and thick and hot, and he felt his thighs clench as the blood rushed through his body to his pelvis.

He closed his eyes, sucking his cheeks between his teeth. It felt like his whole body was melting into the couch, everything except for what parts of him she touched. She kept going, delicate at first, but when he let out a breath of her name she seemed to she grinned grabbing him tighter. He forced himself to open his eyes, not wanting to miss what was happening.

She was a fucking picture. He was sure there was a picture, somewhere, some fancy fucking piece of art that depicted what he was seeing: the sunlight streaming in through the windows behind her, bathing her in golden liquid so that they were both drowning. She was lost in concentration, her eyes on her hands and on him, her nails scratching him lightly along his pelvis. Completely easy, her hands so soft, and it wasn't even about coming. His toes were curled, the base of his spine tingling but she was touching him and he was touching her and that would've been enough. Enough to remind him he made it, he lived and so had she. That they were together outside devision walls beyond reach.

Except he wanted her to come on him. His own hold on her had grown lax, but now he grabbed her shorts again and yanked them harder than he had before so that her hips were above his own.

"Keep goin'," he said when her hands stilled, pushing his fingers back so he was on her cunt again. He went to her center, pushing his middle finger inside while he held her in place with his other hand on her hip. It was just his finger, sinking easily knuckle deep inside of her, but she crumpled a little, her hand flattening out on his stomach.

This?" he asked, hoarse with how much he wanted her as he watched the way her face changed with every slow pump of his finger. He switched it up then, focusing two of his fingers on her clit, rubbing as steadily as the wetness would allow. "Or that?"

He didn't need her to answer. She doubled over, letting go of him, catching herself with a hand on his chest. She moved the other down to where he was rubbing her as the hand still on his chest clenched, her nails catching into his skin. It was like she wasn't even here anymore, not all of her, but he still recognized that same ferocity she had always given him, single minded concentration as she chased after what he was offering. What she was trusting him to give her. When she looked at him again, it was with nothing but need, lips plump and hair gone wild.

"Thassit, girl," he praised as she pushed her hips into his hand. He looked past her at her ass as it rose and fell, the small of her back arching more and more sweetly. He kept murmuring to her as he watched her, not even sure what the fuck he was saying but it didn't even matter as long as she wanted to hear it. His wrist was beginning to cramp, but he pushed through it, listening to the sound of his fingers working her over.

She let go of his hand, giving him no warning as she grabbed his cock and in one motion sank onto it, guiding him easily inside.

"Fuckin' Christ," he grunted, moving his hand so he could look down at where he had disappeared inside of her. Her hips undulated against him, first raising only to slink back down, taking in most of his inches. He spared a glance at her face, but when he saw her looking down exactly where he had been he let himself stare.

All he could do was hold on - literally, hold on, grabbing his own cock already wet with her to keep himself still - and try not to think. After he couldn't take her wriggling anymore, he grabbed onto her waistband to guide her towards him so that her face was above his. This time, when she came back down, she took him to the base, making him shiver all over as spikes of a nagging, raw ache pulled at his muscles.

She flexed experimentally, her breathing shaky as he hands found his shoulder. He felt like he was being swallowed whole. He used his feet on the floor as leverage to push his hips up into her, letting go of her shorts to thread his hand through the hair at the back of her head and pulling her forcefully down, kissing her as soon as she was in reach. There wasn't any fucking skill into what he was doing, just tongue against tongue, their teeth clicking as he held her to him tighter. Her hips made a slow drag up and back down his length, tight and hot, making him curse against her mouth. The fabric of her shorts dragged against him, adding friction to wetness, scratching at him and sending his sensitivity overboard.

Her rhythm was slow, leaving him to almost suffer as he was left with no choice but to feel every aching second. None of his subtle urging could get her to go faster, not his hands on her hips or her ass, not the pull of her hair or the touch of her clit. He let her work herself on top of him for as long as he could, distracting himself with the sound of her breaths getting shallower and faster, the little hints of a moan that would come when she liked what she felt.

When he could take no more, when his hips were jutting up into her and his hands were nearly twitching with unspent energy and the need to go faster, he stilled her on top of him with a firm hand to the small of her back.

"Up," he said. He didn't give her a choice, wrapping an arm around her and taking her with him as he got to his feet. She went along with it at first, but made a little "hmph" sound as he set her down and twisted her around so her back was against him. He gave his cock a few tugs as he wrapped her hair around his hand again, the wetness she had left on him making it almost too easy.

He'd pictured her like this more often than a grown man should. Having her on her stomach for him, being able to pull her hips back into him, the whole canvas of her pretty back open to him, her tits in his hands. She caught up with him quickly, knocking her knees apart and then reaching back to place her hand over his. He was nothing but her hand on him and his hands on her, everything exploding in red. He prodded her forward until her knees hit the couch, just barely containing himself from bending over and just _fucking_ her.

But. There was what she'd said. Don't hold back. She was asking him to pin her hands down, her bringing him to her neck. He tugged at her hair, bringing her back a few inches until her head was nestled into the crook of her ass was pressing against his cock. She was looking at him, her mouth open but her eyes alive with the same energy she'd given when his hand was at her throat.

She reached back again to stroke at him, planting her mouth at his jaw. "Always knew you'd break for me eventually," he drawled. Her eyes flashed and her kiss turned into a bite, teeth scraping at his skin.

This time, he did lose it. Before she had the chance to do anything else he was pushing her onto the couch. He got on with her, turning them both sideways so they had more room. He nudged her head forward, and she arched her back, pushing her ass back into him. He held her firm by the waist, leaning back so he could have a clear view as he guided himself slowly inside her. She was so close that he had to give up and nudge her knees further apart, but this time when he pushed into her her thighs made it so tight that they were both able to feel it. He put a hand on her hip to tug her back to him as he drove inside.

This time, she moaned, loud and desperate, her head dropping so her shoulder blades butted up against her skin. Nikita hadn't thought it could get better than last time, but she was always proven wrong. Nothing ever prepared her for this, this feeling as he hit inside every part of her. He was relentless, nothing like the slow build she had been giving him earlier. He kept hold of her hair, keeping her whole body taut. All she could do was hold onto the arm of the couch, the cushions, and then her own breasts when even that wasn't enough. She needed to hold onto something, anything as he built the tension steadily inside of her, ripping her apart from the inside out. She was going to finish fast this time, she could feel it, still wound up from earlier. She didn't even know how he was still going. Not like this.

It was impossible to be think coherently. She tried to distract herself, listening to what he was muttering to her.

"Goddammit," he growled into her hair, "Christ, Niki. C'mon, c'mon," he said as she faltered, losing strength. "I know you've got more. Give it to me, girl. Give it all my little rouge."

But then he let go of her hip to pull her shorts tight, and it knotted hard against her clit just as he pushed into her again. She bent over, unable to hold herself up at all anymore, all the strength gone from her shaking legs and stomach. She reached back, trying to find purchase on his hip or thigh but quickly giving up, instead just barely catching herself on edge of the couch in time to stop herself from falling completely.

But he stopped, letting go of her hair and moving a strong arm under her breasts, putting a hand to grip the sides of her throat to yank her up to him so her back was solidly against his chest. She couldn't help him at all, limp in his arms, her head falling back on his shoulder.

"Come to me, my little assassin, give it to me," he muttered, his face so full of concentration she wasn't even sure he knew what he was saying. He took her wrist and wrapped her arm around the back of his neck. His hand on her throat went instead to her thigh, grabbing underneath to push her leg up and over his bent one so that it hooked loosely around his hip.

"Right there. Good girl."

The praise gave her a thrill she wasn't being good and they both knew it. There wasn't anything inherently good about either of them. But here, with his whole body towering around her, she could be a good girl for him. Her leg ached from being stretched too far, but she didn't care. She gasped audibly, her teeth clicking as she snapped her mouth shut. He was only just barely inside her, all the jostling nearly dislodging him, but now he pushed into her with no hesitation, sinking so deep her eyes nearly crossed. Her lungs were hardly working, barely even managing to hyperventilate, leaving her light-headed as she sobbed and her stomach sent flutters down between her hips.

She couldn't concentrate, couldn't think, couldn't breathe right. She'd had him so many times, but still, she wasn't used to it, wasn't used to the feel of being so wrapped around him, of him adjusting her so she was more situated in his arms, of her body being stretched so much it hurt, the way his hair felt as she pulled it between her fingers. Her eyes had been closed, but now she opened them just to see his face.

His hand holding her thigh let go of its grip, and when she felt him again his fingers were at her pubic bone, inching down slowly to where he was pushing inside until he met her clit. It was impossible to hold back the instinct to cringe away from the intensity of what that small motion had made her feel, her whole body trying to collapse in on itself. But his arm around her kept strong, his fingers relentless. His other hand went to the side of her head to turn her face to his, but she couldn't even open her eyes as her thighs shook uncontrollably.

Nothing had ever felt like this. She didn't have words, could only choke on the breath in her throat as she felt her body close around him again and again and again, flashing hot and cold as nothing short of heaven soaked into every crevice of her body. She cried out, the pleasure doubling over when he smacked his hand over her mouth at the middle of her peak and she tasted the salt on his palm as he muffled her.

"Thassright," he muttered, shifting her limp body in his arms, his fingers still working her. She tried to close her thighs, but as soon as they moved he pushed them back, keeping her spread wide open to him.

It wasn't done. She wasn't sure she even had a body anymore, but what she could feel was him still inside of her, hard and persistent. He at least moved slower now, but still he moved, barely pulling out before he drove all the way back inside.

"Wait," she whispered, "wait, Micheal, just gimme, I can't, I don't," she tried, again and again, and then cried out when it didn't stop and a fresh wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain hit her.

"To much for the great Nikita," he said teasingly, "Open your eyes babe," he said, gripping her jaw tighter, not hard enough to hurt but enough that knew she didn't really have a choice.

She did as he asked, immediately finding the green of his own already looking down at her, not even blinking as he pushed into her again. It was a moment, that look he was giving her, one she felt lockdown in her memory and she knew she would never forget the way this felt.

But then he looked back down at her body, his fingers strumming her clit again, and there came a new urgency to what he was doing. She felt raw, now, every movement magnified, like turning the volume up on a speaker to the max. It was almost beginning to smart, too much to feel and comprehend as he pushed her body quickly towards its second cliff. A few seconds later, he was back to full speed, absolutely pounding inside of her. She felt her whole body shaking, her legs a quivering mess, and there was a constant sound of broken whimpers and moans coming from her that she had no control over. Soon, though, it changed to a steady plea.

Pleasepleaseplease, please, please," she was saying to him, finding the strength to sit up a little more just to make sure he didn't stop. She reached her free hand down to where he was playing her clit like someone would play a 6-string, grabbing into his chest with the arm around his neck. She turned her head into his cheek, licking his jaw and biting the shell of his ear, yanking it as her body jumped along with a thrust. "Please," she said to him, low and throaty. Her was body boneless. She was absolutely desperate, her walls clenching around him in the beginnings of another fall.

"Shut up," he growled, sounding so harsh, but it only made her smile because she knew there was nothing behind it. His hips were starting to falter, losing the steadiness and speed but hitting into her even harder, making her ache. He dropped his hand to one of her bouncing breasts, grabbing onto a nipple. The pain was sharp, bringing her body back into sudden clarity. She gasped into his ear, her whole body raising as she came to another finish, so strong and unexpected and forced that she lifted her body off of him, her whole center of gravity forgotten as she rode out the waves with jutting hips and an unintelligible string of empty words, each one bleeding over into the next.

He finished seconds later, practically snarling into her shoulder, the rumblings of his groan echoing in her ear as he collapsed backwards and took her with him.

For a minute, there was nothing but the blood rushing in her ears, the twitching she still felt between her legs, the slick of sweat all over her body, her lungs grateful to finally take a normal breath. His heat was washing over her, his skin hot where it met hers. She had landed awkwardly next to him, half hanging off the couch with her arm still around his neck. She didn't dare look at him yet least the flames rise again.

After sometime he pulled her back against him. "You've been hiding that naughty streak," he said with a crooked smile.

"Who would have thought Nikita the archangel of revenge would get so hot by being powerless."

Nikita raised her eyebrows in indignation. "I do not!" she coughed with a blush.

Micheal leaned back against the cushions watching her with dark knowing eyes before swooping forward suddenly placing a hand around her throat watching as her pupils dilated again with lust.

He laughed standing up. "Of course not," he called softly over his shoulder headed across the room to grab a water bottle. He leaned up against the wall watching as her breast rose and fell exposed to his watchful gaze. He glanced out the door.

"How long did Birkoff say he would be gone?" he asked softly. She stood removing her crumpled and stretched shorts.

"Long enough" she laughed dashing out of the room and bonding up the upstairs Micheal not far behind.


End file.
